


The Plot Thickens

by BlasphemousProphet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Potterlock - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gryffindor!John, M/M, Potterlock, Slytherin!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:08:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1872507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemousProphet/pseuds/BlasphemousProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to the Second Triwizard Tournament but can be read as a stand alone. Slytherin!Sherlock and Gryffindor!John and all the requisite awesomeness that comes with that. Sorry for all the angst. It ends with happy Johnlock (happyLock?) so never fear. Enjoy. Hopefully you're not as scared of the feels as our two emotionally constipated heros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Plot Thickens

John waited impatiently outside the Slytherin dormitories for Sherlock Holmes, shifting from one foot to the other uneasily and ignoring the stares he was attracting in his Gryffindor tie. He had just been let out of the hospital and he was desperate to see his best friend...new boyfriend...no...not that, anything but that...

"Can't someone let me in?" he mumbled. "Oh, I'm the great Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone! No, John, I won't bother to look for you because I know you'll look for me, okay, mate?" 

"Tranversio," said a calm voice behind him, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. John turned to face Sherlock. 

Rumpled, exhausted, red cheeked but excited, Sherlock looked like a Greek god to John. "I need to talk to you," said Sherlock. 

"Yeah, you told me to meet you here," snapped John. 

"Did I? Right...Let's go to dinner, feed you up a bit..."

"You're coming to dinner?" asked John in shock. 

"I'm not on a case currently and I know how much you love it when I eat so...I mean, we can always meet later. You can go eat with your friends or whatever," mumbled Sherlock. 

"I've been waiting for you out here for half an hour," John pointed out. "Of course I want to eat with you."

Sherlock blushed. "You've gotten taller," John said idiotically. "Since I saw you last."  
Sherlock raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Perhaps you're getting shorter?" 

"Oh, shut up," said John and he twitched when Sherlock leaned down to kiss him. 

"I'm not...ready," John confessed. Sherlock bit his lip, something John had never seen him do before. It was beautiful. "It's not that I don't want to...it's just this is so public..."

"I see," said Sherlock. 

 

"Not everyone is like you, Sherlock," said Mycroft, idly using his wand to shove a pile of clothing into a drawer. "You're impulsive. You throw yourself into things. You don't know when to stop."

"What are you saying?" Sherlock demanded. 

"Perhaps John only returned your affections because he didn't want to lose your friendship and he sensed it was something you needed," said Mycroft briskly. "Affections are the sign of a weak man. Let him go. You can still be a great man if you focus on your studies."

Sherlock flopped onto his bed. 

"John might make you a good man," Mycroft said gently. "But without him you can be a great one."

"I'm lonely," croaked Sherlock. 

"Maybe you should come home for a while."

"No! I need you to get me a copy of The Book of Evil. An unlisted one, better."

"If you come home."

"No," said Sherlock stubbornly. 

"I don't like seeing you like this."

"I'm never going to be a great man, am I?" Sherlock murmured, looking like a little boy with his curls flopping into his eyes. 

"I'll get you that book, Sherlock."

 

"Our darling Sherlock is heartbroken," declared Moriarty triumphantly. 

"Are you sure?" ventured Irene.   
"Positive. Now what do you see?"

The Mirror of Erised showed Irene on a throne on top of the world. There was a lump in Irene's throat. 

"Two little boys and a dog," said Irene. The most powerful player was the last one in the game, she thought. She would have to wait a long time and watch a lot of people die but not Sherlock Holmes. He could be a valuable ally to her one day. 

"Idiotic," Moriarty scoffed. 

"What do you see?"

Moriarty saw Sherlock sitting on his lap and gazing eagerly into his eyes, shards of glass and various bodily appendages surrounding them. 

"Nothing," said Moriarty. "I'm about to have everything I want. Take the mirror," he directed Mary Morstan. 

"I can't carry this," Mary snapped. 

"Are you a witch or a squibb? Use your wand. I know you have one," said Moriarty. 

 

"Would you believe she's staying?" asked Bill. 

"Who?" asked John. 

"Irene Adler, that girl from Beauxbaxtons. She applied for a transfer."

"In the middle of the year?" asked Mike. 

"Yeah. And she's in Slytherin, so we have classes with her. John?"

"He doesn't want to be unfaithful to Sarah," giggled Bill. 

"Just looking at her would make a man unfaithful," added Mike. 

"Did Jim Moriarty transfer?" asked John, looking up. 

"Who?"

"That git from Durmstrang. No, he took his trophy and went back."

"Good riddance."

"Can we continue talking about Irene?"

"Why did we stop?"

"I can't remember..."

 

John pounded on Sherlock's door. It was two in the morning but he knew Sherlock would be awake. 

"Irene's here! She transferred! The one we thought might be working with Moriarty!" John yelled through the door. 

"I know," said Sherlock opening the door. 

"Of course she's in here," John mumbled. "I'm an idiot."  
"Hello, John," said Irene, smiling winningly at him. John blinked. 

"Excuse us," said Sherlock, dragging John into the hall. "Is that what you came here for?"

"I thought you might want to know," muttered John. 

"Of course I already knew. I'm a detective, John."

"Right. I'm off to bed, then."

"John," said Sherlock, leaping and bounding down the hall to grab his arm. "Can I say something?"

"Course."

"Historically, I don't handle rejection...well. Just tell me if you aren't interested in me. Honesty I handle better."

"You dish so much honesty out, you gotta take some in sometime," joked John, apropos of nothing. 

When Sherlock smiled the sun came out. 

John put his hand on Sherlock's cheek. "You scare me sometimes," he said. "I've never felt like this about anyone."

"Okay," said Sherlock. 

"Of course I want you. I've wanted you for years. I can't believe you're the one chasing me, I feel like I've trapped you, you're so much smarter than me-"

"Don't say that," said Sherlock fiercely. 

"It's true and I'm terrified."  
"Of me?"

"Of you. Look, go fuck Irene. I know that's what you were going to do anyways. Don't let me stop you."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. She came into my room and accosted me-"

"I'm not mad, Sherlock. I just don't want this right now. Can we go back to being friends? At least for now?"

"We can never be friends again," said Sherlock, pulling himself to his full height. "Just consider me dead."

"Sherlock! I've been trying to say that-"

"That what?"

"That I'm in love with you!" John snapped. He grabbed Sherlock by his tie and pulled him down to his face. Their second kiss was greater than their first, if that was possible. John was dizzy with happiness, kissing every part of Sherlock he could touch, forgetting that they were in the Slytherin dorm halls, forgetting he wanted to take it slow, forgetting everything but Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock kissing him wanting him touching him until John could hardly take it anymore. 

 

Holding hands, Sherlock's smile almost too smug to bear, they strolled through Hogwarts, talking about nothing and everything, forgetting about Irene and Moriarty. They spent hours together, making out in the restricted section of the library behind piles of books, sneaking into the Prefect's bathroom at night (there was one particularly close encounter with Peeves where Sherlock had to clap a hand over John's mouth to stop him from laughing), buying each other butterbeers at Hogsmeade, using floo powder to go to the Holmes' family manor where Sherlock showed John his greenhouse and potions laboratory, John pouncing on Sherlock after noticing he came to one of his Quidditch games, straightening Sherlock's ties, running his hand through his hair, who knew life could be this good?

 

"Sherlock Holmes."  
"Jim Moriarty."

"We meet again. Last time I saw you I was in your bed, reaching-"

"Shut up."

"Oh, I know, you have John now."

"I'm right here!"

"Sorry, John, I didn't see you there. Funny how little you seem to us wizards."

"What did you say?"

"Mudblood," Moriarty snarled. 

"Don't talk to him," said Sherlock as John reached for his wand. 

"He's wasting your time, Sherlock! Can't you see that? Is he better in bed than me? Seems hard to imagine, seeing how inexperienced and childish he is..."

"Stupefy!" yelled John at the same time Sherlock yelled "Cruciatus!"

Moriarty fell to the ground. 

"Were you trying to use an Unforgivable Curse?"

"My hands were...shaking a little. I don't think I did it..."  
"Did you just try to kill someone for me?"

"Well, yes. I need you, John."

"Come here."

"Mm."

"I need you too," John whispered. "Don't do that again, okay? It scares me."

They kissed over Moriarty's body and embraced tightly. 

 

"John, I need to talk to you," said Sally Donovan, an ill tempered Gryffindor girl who was going out with Anderson (Hufflepuff, of course).

"What is it?"

"I know you and Sherlock are together now but you should know that...he's from a family of dark wizards, John. One day making potions and practicing curses on mice won't be enough and then he'll-"

"He'll what?"

"Gryffindor to Gryffindor, I'm just trying to warn you," said Sally. "There's something wrong with him. You- Know- Who has nothing on him-"

"You can say his name. He's long dead," snapped John. 

"Voldemort has nothing on him! He could kill us all!"

"Excuse me," said John, walking away without noticing Sherlock standing stock still in the shadows. 

 

Sherlock was not surprised to see Irene in his room though he and John were equally surprised at the sight of Irene completely naked on his bed.

"Sherlock. Fancy seeing you here," trilled Irene.

"Would you mind putting some clothes on?" asked John. 

Sherlock handed her his coat as John narrowed his eyes. Irene stood and ran a hand down Sherlock's chest. 

"You are too kind," she announced. "I need your assistance."

Sherlock glanced at John folding his arms and fought back a smile. 

"I need someplace to hide."

"And naturally, you thought of here," said Sherlock, dryly. "When you have a bedroom in the girls' dormitory remarkable close by?"

"Moriarty is after me."

"Moriarty went back to Durmstrang," said John.

"Moriarty is here," Irene whispered, and she did seem truly frightened. 

"John. A word?" asked Sherlock and they stepped into the hall. 

"Would you mind terribly if she stayed?"

"A little bit, yeah!"

"This is an opportunity to get some intel, finally!"

"Sherlock. Can you honestly not see what is happening? Irene is trying to seduce you. She ran a hand down your chest, for god's sake! Like this!"

Sherlock sucked in a breath as John ran a hand down his chest and leaned forward to John, his lips parted. 

"Only you do this to me," said Sherlock huskily. 

"Yeah, me and James Moriarty," snapped John, looked pleased in spite of himself. 

"I'll send her away."

"If she's really scared let her stay," sighed John, throwing his hands in the air. 

"But if she stays then how can you stay?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Stay with me tonight John. I want you near me all the time."

"Even after all our fighting?"

"Always," said Sherlock, and he went into his room to speak to Irene. 

Sherlock emerged, tie askew, lipstick mark on his face that narrowly missed his mouth, and ushered Irene out. 

Sherlock undressed John slowly, barely touching him as he removed his cape, tie, shirt, shoes, socks and pants, kneeling in front of him and smiling when John ran his hands through Sherlock's hair with trembling fingers. 

"You make some beautiful sounds," said Sherlock afterward. 

"I think I love you," said John. 

"You're never sleeping in your own room again," Sherlock said, tucking John in, nestled under his chin, sweaty, their breathing still unsteady. 

"I don't ever want to go back to there," swore John. 

 

"It didn't work. I don't think women are his area."

"Damnit, Irene! Must I do everything myself?"

"Oh, come on. You know you wanted this."

"What did you just say to me?"

"You're stalking him after he abandoned you for John. You told everyone sex with Sherlock Holmes was the best sex you'd ever had and he was the only man you met who was just as smart as you. Clearly you're hurt and jealous. Female intuition, Jim."

"Honey, must I remind you that you are still under my control until this mission is finished and that I did not drop out of Durmstrang to live in the Room of Requirement so Irene Adler could be my therapist?"

"Jim, maybe you should just let this one go. You can't kill him, you can't whisk him away, there's a chance he might be two steps ahead of us right now..."

"Who says I can't kill him?" demanded Moriarty. "If I can't have him then no one should. Also, you can't call me Jim anymore. I don't like it."

"What shall I call you?"

"Hmm, how about Mr. Sex?"

"Seems a bit...inaccurate. Okay, joking, joking! How about some more butterbeer?"

"Good idea. Mary! Where the hell did that lazy blonde worm go?"

"Probably off eating crumpets," said Irene. 

"I swear that bitch is a squib," said Moriarty and they laughed.

 

"This is getting a bit old," said Sherlock. 

"Don't you miss me?" purred Moriarty. "Where's Holy Watson? Classes? Making out with Sarah Sawyer after a Quidditch game? Being cornered by Victor Trevor to talk about what a little slut you are? That's right, Sherlock, I know everything..."

"Leave him out of this!"

"Honey, I'm afraid that won't be possible. You see, he's already here."

Moriarty snapped his fingers and Mary Morstan pushed John in front of Moriarty. 

"You can't be allowed to continue, you see."

 

 

“Do you know I was this close to going to Durmstrang?”

John said nothing, just burrowing deeper into Sherlock’s arms.

“My first week here Mycroft filled out the application.”

“And then what happened?”

“I found that old portrait of Snape. And I met you.”

Sherlock went twice a week to visit the portrait of Severus Snape. They talked, compared potion recipes, spells they invented, and unrequited love.

“Would you like to meet John?” Sherlock asked Snape once. Snape shrugged. “Unnecessary,” he said gruffly but Sherlock could tell he was flattered. Snape was the one that told Sherlock to try when it came to John. In slow, halting breaths, he talked about Lily Evans to Sherlock.

“The only other person to ever hear this was Albus Dumbledore. And Harry Potter,” Snape added as an afterthought.

“The baby who lived? Please,” Sherlock scoffed. Snape was pleased despite himself. “There was a lot more James than Lily in Potter…”

“I’ll bet.”

“Just don’t stop visiting me when you have John, okay?”

“never. Who else visits you?”

Snape was silent.

“Arithmancy is starting,” he said finally.

“You know I’m a detective, right?”

“Fine. James Moriarty.”

Sherlock was temporarily speechless.

“I get lonely,” Snape confessed.

“I understand,” said Sherlock. “After all, I slept with him.”

“Was he any good?”

“As much as it pains me to say, very much so.”

“Did John know?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Would you take it back?”

“I wouldn’t take anything back. I think he loved me, in his way.”

“But not like John?”

“Not like John.”

“I’ll see him,” Snape announced.

“I’ll bring him by tomorrow,” promised Sherlock.

Moriarty clenched his fingers in the darkness. He was going to hack that painting to bits.

John's fingers left their imprint on Sherlock's back. 

"He wants to meet you."

"Good," John whispered. "I want to meet him."

"I love you," said Sherlock. 

"I'll never leave you," John swore and Sherlock kissed the top of his head. 

That night, as Sherlock and John lay entwined in the Slytherin dormitory, and Moriarty bit his lips in the Slytherin Common Room and Snape's painting stood alone, everything was perfect. All Sherlock prayed for was that he would wake up and everything would be exactly the same. And so it was.


End file.
